


Contrast

by GenesisArclite



Category: Deus Ex (Video Games), Deus Ex: Mankind Divided
Genre: Character Study, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Friendship/Love, Men Crying, Romance, Romantic Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:01:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22640704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GenesisArclite/pseuds/GenesisArclite
Summary: Adam Jensen is running low on friends he can run to in Prague, but there is one he can always count on for her patience and kindness. While Aria might not fully understand why he came to her on the verge of a breakdown, what matters is that she was the one he chose. They're friends, but maybe there's something more there.
Relationships: Aria Argento/Adam Jensen
Comments: 5
Kudos: 28





	Contrast

Eight days after the London op wrapped up, it was raining.

It was the kind of rain composed of thick, icy cold droplets that sent every living thing scurrying for shelter – the kind of charcoal-colored clouds and streetlamp haze that beckoned anyone who gazed at it to sleep. With her nearest window just barely cracked, Aria could hear the song of autumnal rain, pattering the sill and dripping from the eaves. It was the most beautiful lullaby to her, rivaling the sound of frogs and crickets on a warm summer night, and she could sleep to its cadence in minutes, it felt. When the rain fell, she slept at her best.

The chill that crept through that narrow gap couldn’t hurt her, curled up as she was in thick blankets. As the cool, damp breeze caressed her cheeks, the blankets held her fast and warm. The contrast was soothing.

She had been lying there, drifting toward sleep, for a while now. After spending an hour reading, she’d turned out her light and tucked in, leaving her apartment completely dark but for the light filtering through the windows. The glass was old and a little weathered, letting in a hazy ambience below the partly-drawn shades. The scent of wet streets and garbage wafted through the air, making her miss her parents’ Colorado home.

As she had just begun to slip into the dreamlike state of half-sleep, the sound of something rattling below her window startled her back awake. The curfew was still going on, though less violently than before, and there was talk of lifting it, but for now, no one dared venture outside during quiet hours. It was possible someone was trying to get into the building, but then, wouldn’t they just use one of the entrances, or something else on the ground floor?

Shaking herself awake with the military training she still remembered, she reached under her pillow for the pistol she always kept nearby before grabbing her tank top and shorts. After slipping them on, she stayed under the sheets, pistol at the ready, safety still on, and waited.

The sound came again. It was faint, the sound of something scratching on cheap siding. A window rattled below her; she squinted into the darkness.

Something curled over the sill, gleaming faintly in the light – four somethings, to be precise, all of them small and the color of carbon fiber. Fingers. They hauled a shape up to the window before one set rose to push the window up. The sound was quick and harsh – clearly, the intruder wasn’t attempting to be stealthy – before the owner of the hands pulled himself with a grunt up onto the sill, then through the gap to the floor.

Aria stayed still when she said, “Get out. You can’t wait out the curfew here.”

“The cur–” The shape straightened, water glittering in the faint light, but even before he continued, she knew the voice. “I didn’t… sorry, Aria, I thought I got through.”

“Adam?” Lowering the pistol, she quickly got out of bed, slipped on the jacket she kept for cold nights, and flipped on a table lamp. It cast enough light to bring him out of the darkness, while not being bright enough to disturb her vision. It was definitely him, clothing drenched, droplets beading on the coat and sliding off with the slightest movement, and he looked at her in what she assumed to be some sort of tired appeal. The shades were up. They were always up. “Why are you here?”

“I… I really thought I got through.” He shook his head. The light shifted across rain-soaked hair that looked jet black. “But then… then I got no response. So I had… I had to see. Make sure.”

His voice was unsteady; she felt her brow furrow, but didn’t dare get any closer, not yet. Adam was an enigma to everyone, and despite his kind disposition toward her, he was still rather distant from his team. He didn’t join the team-building outings on Friday nights – though, in all fairness, she usually didn’t, either – nor did he seem content just to stop and talk with anyone but her around the office. As quartermaster, she had been a sort of gatekeeper for the entrance to TF29, and though he never really had a reason to talk to her, he usually made time. But she was it, the only one he spoke to when there was no business to attend to. He was a mystery.

She didn’t know what to make of that. The handsome stranger who invaded her thoughts with no effort had made time for _her_ , and now he was in her apartment, in the middle of the night.

She felt her stomach flip over. He was in her apartment in the middle of the night.

Butterflies danced in the pit of her belly.

“You lost me,” she managed to say, suddenly very aware of her thin tank top and shorts. She wore nothing under either, meant solely for basic modesty and nothing else, and the contrast between her light clothes and his street uniform felt like an impassable gulf. Cinching the front of the jacket a little closer, she gripped it with both hands. How so very small and vulnerable she felt.

“Curfew. I heard something happened in this area, and tried to contact you, but…” He looked away. “I didn’t get a reply. I got worried, so I came by.”

The butterflies were making it hard to breathe, dancing up into her throat now. “You… you were worried about me?”

“Yeah.” He still didn’t look at her. “Guess you’re okay. Nothing to worry about.”

She could remember hearing an altercation outside that had ended with several drones and at least two gunshots, but it had been cleared away quickly. He had braved the curfew, which had been going for nearly an hour now, to come to her, just to see if she was alright after that. It felt… strange. Dreamlike. Maybe she _was_ dreaming. A lucid dream, probably. There was no way this beautiful battle angel would risk his life just for _her_.

“You were still at the office?”

“Had some stuff to clean up.” He looked back at her after a moment’s hesitation. “I was headed home when I heard.”

The unsteadiness remained. Her frown deepened. “That’s an excuse. Why’d you come?”

A notch appeared between his eyebrows. “It’s not an excuse, Aria. I really did come to make sure–” He took a deep breath; she watched his chest expand, light shifting across the expensive coat, droplets tracing the threads. “Look, it’s been… hard for all of us. Everything that’s happened, all we’ve been through… I thought, maybe, it was possible you’d gotten hurt. That’s all. So I called, and you didn’t answer, so I came by.”

She shook her head. “Then you could’ve tried calling again, or the landline I’ve got. Or, you know, just looked in with your… your x-ray vision or whatever, and checked. You had options.”

His mouth tightened before he said, “Aria–”

The pistol was still in her hand; she squeezed it for just a second. “No, it’s an excuse. Why did you _really_ –”

He cut her off. “It’s not enough to want to see you?”

His voice hadn’t raised even a notch, but the sternness silenced her protests. The butterflies were fluttering around again as his words sunk into her bones. It seemed they sunk into his, too, because he took a small step back and looked away again, and in the dim light, his skin seemed to darken.

“Oh.” For a long moment, that was all she could think to say in response. “Why would you want to see me?”

Again, his mouth tightened. “I don’t know.”

All of the potential meanings of that innocuous sentence flitted through her mind. Lowering the pistol to the nearest table, she fiddled with her hands, eyes wandering to a spot on his arm and staying there. “If all you wanted to do was check on me, there’s quicker ways. If you wanted to see me, you didn’t have to come in the middle of the night and brave a curfew. Something else is going on.” With a quick breath, she looked back at him. “So, what?”

Even his profile was beautiful – carved with imperfections and strong, straight lines, edged by hair dark as the clouds outside and interesting shapes that drew her eye. He was taller than her, and bigger, and it was easier to feel that here, in the comparatively cramped confines of her apartment. He was unbelievably more powerful

Yet, he was nervous, shy, his body language uncertain, his inability to look at her screaming a thousand things those lips could not ever speak. He was harmless to her. She knew that. She had recognized his nature, buried under the hard plates and barbed wire that was his public facade, when he spoke softly or took a few minutes of his precious time just to be near her. She knew it when he asked if she was alright after they came out of the London op, as they were headed back for the VTOL, and he asked, and she replied, and it was done, but he didn’t leave.

And all he said was, again, “I don’t know.”

The helplessness in his voice shot her straight in the heart. She walked boldly to him and raised her flesh hand, placing it on his right cheek. A little gentle pressure, and he was looking at her. He didn’t pull away. He did nothing but gaze at her, she presumed, from behind opaque black lenses shining with pools of yellow light.

The sensation of him taking her other hand in his – strong, metal, carbon fiber, plastic, warm – tore down what was left of her defenses. He was vulnerable, more so than she’d ever seen him. That willingness to reach for her, without a word, his entire body pleading instead, was so simple and so human that it broke her the rest of the way.

“Adam,” she murmured, gently, offering him the same kindness, the same warmth, he had always given her, “tell me what’s wrong. Maybe I can’t help, really, but sometimes talking helps a little.”

Against her fingers, he was shaking. “I don’t know. I don’t _know_.”

Ever since he had so casually walked into the offices at TF29, she had been intrigued. Eventually, she was infatuated, helpless as he so casually kicked down all her defenses and weakened her inner protests with the occasional smile. Such a rare thing, his smiles were, that she treasured every one, feeling special because he gave them _to her_. He was beautiful, and a warrior, who stayed his hand and always did his work well. He was a living weapons platform who chose the soft touch, a mosaic of light and shadow that fascinated her.

Aria had known him for a while now. Peeling back his layers was a struggle. He didn’t actively fight her, but his defenses were so strong, his heart buried so deep, that she couldn’t reach it so easily.

Though, she was hardly any different. _She_ also hid her heart away. _She_ also didn’t open up to anyone but him.

She was in love with him, and in that moment, she wondered if he loved her.

But that wasn’t possible. Was it?

“Aria.” Her name came out in a rasp of breath, falling past his lips as though it pained him to speak. “Please don’t ask. Please don’t ask. Don’t _ask_. But I– I _swear_ this is just for you. It’s not– there’s nothing else, I just– look, I just– I need– I needed to see–” A single breath surged into his lungs; she felt his fingers squeeze her hand. “Can I ask… if I ask… can you… would you…” Again came her name, and he looked at the floor between them.

Her hand smoothed up. Her fingers brushed his hairline. “Ask. I can always tell you no. Just ask.”

With a near-inaudible _snick_ , the shades retracted, and dark eyes rose to meet hers once more. Her heart leapt a little in her chest at the sight of something he so carefully kept hidden away. “You’ve been such a good friend to me, you know? A real good one. I don’t want to lose that. I don’t want to lose _you_. I can’t… I don’t _want_ to–”

“Adam.” She breathed his name, a lover’s voice.

The word struck his shell like a titanium arrowhead, shattering his defenses as though they were made of glass. She wasn’t sure exactly what was going on, or what happened next, but next she knew, he was shivering, her hands pressed to his cheeks and smoothing down onto his neck, wishing she could wrap every inch of him up within her. Then, he sent her heart tumbling into space when his lips landed on hers, soft, uncertain, as if afraid to hurt her, as if afraid one slight move wrong would break her like the glass she’d so blithely smashed apart.

His beard felt soft against her hands, her chin, the edges of her lips, the corners of her mouth, while his breath whisked across her skin, an evening breeze from her homeland. Every sensation was a thunderstorm, and when his arms slipped around her waist, she pulled herself the rest of the way. It didn’t matter why he was kissing her. She didn’t care. What she did care about was that _Adam Jensen was kissing her_ , as deeply and gently as though he had loved her for a thousand years, still holding her so carefully, as though scared of breaking her.

She buried herself in him – in thick, damp hair, in startlingly soft skin, in expensive fabric – and breathed him in, earthy and musky, the scent of rain and city streets and a rose’s sweet twinge wrapped up in every strand. It was desperate. Foolish. Her heart pounded in her ears and thundered against her ribs.

The kiss softened. His lips moved to caress hers, and he cradled her head, tipping his own. She clung to him still. Her hand stayed in his hair.

Then his chest heaved. The kiss broke; shaky breaths filled the sudden quiet, and then he collapsed, breaking apart into countless tiny shards that glittered in the dark. Her lips still burning from the pressure of his, she somehow held him up, face buried in his shoulder. Against hers, he sobbed, openly, and it terrified her in profound ways.

But he had come to _her_.

The window was still open. Some rain fell in through it. Drones rumbled past, with the occasional robotic voice cutting through the din of water striking the dirtied ground. Cold, damp air whispered over her skin and through thin fabric, seeking places that felt far too warm.

This powerful warrior, who had faced nightmares given form, hordes of soldiers and machines, had come willingly to her, a woman so far below notice that she could only dream of this, so far beneath his league that she still couldn’t believe it was real… but talk of leagues and dreams and hopes had to end, because Adam Jensen had come to her to cry out something she didn’t understand.

Eventually, he was hollow, silently resting against her shoulder. In time, even that went away, as he pulled away, looked away, separated their bodies, rebuilt the unimaginable gulf, but she didn’t let him go, grasping his hands, stopping him from running away. When his eyes returned to hers, she said, “It’s okay.”

Tear-stained cheeks made for a face she had some trouble taking in. “It’s not. I didn’t want to make this… these things… awkward. I didn’t want–” He jerked out of her grip. She saw him close up again, the shades snapping back into place, the rawness in his expression fading fast; he briefly rubbed at his cheeks with both hands. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I did _any_ of that, and without _asking_ , too.” A pause, then, “I need to go.”

“Adam? _Adam_!” She lunged for him, grabbing his arm, as he turned away and started back for the window. “Don’t you dare run away. Don’t you _dare_.”

He froze, but didn’t pull away this time. “Aria–”

“You _know_ me, Adam. You _know_ that if I _really_ didn’t want you doing this, you would _know_. Much as I like you, I wouldn’t hesitate to bury my fist in your face.” When he faced her, visibly shrinking back, she loosened her grip and walked up to him again. “Hey. Don’t go back out there in a state, okay? Stay until you’re better.”

Again, his face turned away from hers. Light and shadow played across his features, shining in his hair, while the ruddiness of too many tears still stung his cheeks. “I got _here_ , didn’t I? I’ll be–” But then, he stopped, lips working, before looking back at her, the corner of his mouth quirking for a just the briefest of moments. “Stay, huh?”

She released him. “Couch is pretty comfortable. You don’t have to sleep. Just rest until you’re better. Please?”

Those lips hardened. “You’re not just a friend, are you?”

“I–” Caught off guard, she stared at him, open-mouthed. After willingly returning his desperate kiss and holding him until he finally stopped crying, he was _seriously_ asking that question of her? Was he oblivious, or willfully ignorant? The only thing she could think of in reply was, “Are you serious right now?”

Silence stretched between them for a long time. At her sides, her hands balled into fists, then relaxed, and she stared right back at him without flinching. In her arms, he’d felt so _strong_ , even through the shaking and the tears drying on her shoulder. It had been so long since she’d found herself in a man’s arms that she had forgotten how _good_ it felt to be with one she could trust. There was something appealing about his presence in an oddly primal way, and with him there, though she knew she could take of herself, she felt more at ease.

Then, he shook his head. “Look–”

“Since the day you walked into TF29, getting shown around by Miller, I thought you were the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.” Again, her hands clenched, and now the tension spread to her shoulders. “But looks, they fade, you know? So I thought I should get to know you, and you know what? The inside matches the outside. You’re nice to me and everyone else, and you throw yourself in harm’s way all the time, expecting nothing back. I read the memo. You were a cop, and now you’re an agent, and you’ve still got the cop years in you. You can’t _help_ it.”

An uneasy shifting of his weight told her his defiance had begun to slip. “I… I really need to go–”

“Well, you can’t, because we had this discussion, and you can’t just _leave_ after _kissing_ me like a dying man and crying and having a full-on breakdown, and I don’t know what’s going on, but… but you have me, okay? You’re not alone and all. You can come to _me_ , okay? I’m here, if you want me to be, because I like you, and I like being your friend, but I also like _you_ , and I wasn’t ready for you to know, but now you do, okay? Are you _happy_?”

The shades retracted once more; he looked at her, blinking slowly. He was so beautiful, so vulnerable, so frightened and shy, so strong, so fierce, some mythological warrior stepping from the mists of antiquity and given form by the air, and she knew it was stupid and foolish to ascribe a normal man such artistic honors, but he was here, _here_ , in front of her, and her thoughts were a mess and her heart was still tumbling through space.

“How… long?”

She wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. “I liked you the minute I saw you. I loved you later.”

His eyes were shining. “Love?”

“Stop it.” Raising her hands toward him, she spread her fingers, palms up, and looked at him in appeal. “Adam, please. Just stay for a little bit, okay? Don’t think about _that_. Just stay. Rest. Please?”

He came back to her and placed his hands in hers. Those fingers were strong enough to snap steel, but they held hers so carefully that she barely felt any pressure at all. Warm, smooth, all strange textures and interesting shapes, no pulse below the black plastic and sheets of carbon fiber. She wondered if it had taken him as long to feel again as it had her. If he could even remember what it was like to feel with organic fingers. The tiny pops in their joints. The patterns between from a lifetime of movement. Fingerprints. Blue veins under skin.

Then he squeezed, and stopped her thoughts flat.

“Yeah. I think I’ll stay for a little bit.” He looked at her worn couch on the other side of the room. “You said, there?”

“Yeah, there.” She stroked his palms with her thumbs. “It’s okay.”

He didn’t look at her. “Tomorrow is–”

“Not going to be awkward,” she insisted. “Not unless you make it awkward.”

Now his eyes returned to hers. “But you _do_ love me. You said so.”

For reasons she couldn’t comprehend, that detail was important to him. “Yes, Adam, I love you.” After a long time of having to keep that part to herself, it felt good – and terrifying – to say it aloud. She had trouble looking him in the eye as she spoke, though, and they fell to his lips instead. Which was fine, because the shape of his lips, the careful styling of his beard, the contrast of pale skin and dark hair, were still very interesting.

Silence, then, “Aria, I…” As he trailed off, she saw his chin dip downward. The long, pregnant silence that followed made her feel awkward and unsure. Then, though, he turned his hands over to briefly thread his fingers through hers before letting go. “Alright. I’ll stay. I’m… I’m sorry I made this… well, you know.”

“You didn’t. I promise. Just rest.”

He finally moved away, going first to return the window to its original state. Only after he had finally taken up residence on her couch, lying on his side so that he had a clear view of the window, did she finally return to bed, though she kept her door open. If he needed her, she would be there, able to hear him clearly.

And she wasn’t entirely sure that she didn’t need him yet.

She wasn’t sure how long she slept, only that by the time she woke again, he was gone. She thought, though, if she dug around in her haze of sleep-memory, that she could conjure the sensation of someone stroking her cheek and the barest brush of lips on her temple during the night.


End file.
